


Golden

by HeartshapedMusicBox



Series: Stand by you forever - a one shot collection [7]
Category: Karlie Kloss - Fandom, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/F, sorry not sorry for the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 10:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12555176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartshapedMusicBox/pseuds/HeartshapedMusicBox
Summary: You allow yourself to wallow in old memories of lively nights with friends and wine, with sparkling lights and dancing and secret kisses in the dark. Warmth spreads on your cheeks as you recall the sound of her laughter, how her face would always light up like a flower bathed in golden rays of sun when you smiled at her, and how the subtle whiffs of her perfume would wrap around you like a blanket during your after-dark activities.





	Golden

You used to watch the sunset every chance you got.

But that was before; before the ground you stood on opened up from under you, trying to swallow you whole; before your world became dark and heavy and rough. Before the sun packed up her things and moved to London to be away from you.

“Karlie, I can’t,” was all she had left you with, three heartwrenching words that hit you like a knife to the stomach, one slash for each word. You had watched her walk away in the golden light of the end of a summer's day, her heels clicking down your street until she was swallowed up by a big, black SUV. You still remember the silence that filled the absence of your words, your mouth dry as parchment, your lungs devoid of air.

It has been years since you have truly been able to appreciate the golden hues of a sunset.

***

Your nights in New York are colored by the dimness that comes after the pinks and oranges and reds in the sky have slipped by you unnoticed. It is a Friday in November – but then again it could be any day, really, because the grey and dark of autumn with its relentless clouds and rain hit you unusually hard this year and all your days bleed together – and your mind wanders and you wonder what your friends are doing. What _she_ is doing. 

You feel a moment’s comfort from the hands that stroke your arms, but it passes quickly because the hands are your own; your arms wrapped around a battered teddy to make it seem like you’re not just pathetically hugging yourself.

You turn on the TV but you don’t really watch the screen. Instead, you allow yourself to wallow in old memories of lively nights with friends and wine, with sparkling lights and dancing and secret kisses in the dark. Warmth spreads on your cheeks as you recall the sound of her laughter, how her face would always light up like a flower bathed in golden rays of sun when you smiled at her, and how the subtle whiffs of her perfume would wrap around you like a blanket during your after-dark activities. 

It takes you a while to realize that you’re crying; big, wet tears are snaking themselves down your face, leaving sticky patterns on your skin. You throw yourself face down on one of the big throw pillows on your couch and you lie there, feeling raw and angry and broken. This is stupid; _you_ are stupid, for letting her have all this power over you all these years after she up and left you, for not protecting your heart by letting your mind go there again, but you’re alone tonight and you feel like the skies will be grey forever and you just can’t help it. You pound angrily at the cushions underneath you and scream into the pillow until your voice is hoarse, your head is pounding, and your limbs go limp from exhaustion.

***

It is unclear to you how long you lie there in the darkness. You might have fallen asleep at some point, but if you did, it didn’t make you feel any better. You can still hear your heartbeat pounding in your head. 

At some point you wonder if you heard someone knocking on your door, but who would that even be - you don’t know anyone who is even in the city right now - so you ignore it. The TV is still on, the volume down so low all you can hear is distant murmurs between bouts of laughter, but then you hear it again, the knocking that this time is clearly coming from your door.

You push yourself up from the couch and stretch for a moment before you get up. It dawns on you that your apartment is completely dark now, the only reason you can see where you're going is the blue light from the TV, and you fumble your way through your untidy living room on your way to the door. You stumble on a shoe carelessly dropped in the middle of the hallway and are still trying to regain your balance when you fling the door open, not prepared to come face to face with the person standing there with her impossibly blue eyes and her messy, curly hair that you know only looks like that when she's left it to dry on its own. You've always loved her most like this, untamed.

For just a second, you wish the floor would open up underneath you so you could sink and drown and die right there. Maybe lava wouldn't be _that_ painfully hot.

“Hi,” she says, and the sound of her voice makes that fiery death sound even more attractive. Uncertainty shows on her face and you hold your breath, afraid to breathe in the all-too-familiar scent of her perfume, but eventually you have to. 

You stand there in awkward silence. You still haven’t managed to find your voice and she shifts uncomfortably in front of you. You notice the single flower in her hand, a sunflower, just like the bouquet she sent you that one time for your birthday, and something squeezes your heart so hard you don’t know how you’re still standing.

“Why is it so dark here?” she asks, looking past you, “are… you’re not sick, are you? ‘Cause I could go…” 

The anger inside you screams _yes, go, don’t ever come back_ , but you’re so starved for her attention that just the concept of her leaving makes you want to break down and sob. 

“No,” you finally manage to let out, “please, don’t go…” 

Even to your own ears that sounded pathetic, but if she thinks so she doesn’t let you know. Instead she smiles a little, and you swoon on the inside.

“Okay,” she says.

Another awkward silence.

“This is for you,” she blurts out and holds out the flower. You take it awkwardly and twirl the stem round and round with your fingers, staring at it. “Are you going to let me in?” she asks and you force yourself to look up at her while chiding yourself for not having invited her in already.

You let her in and follow her to your messy living room. She turns on all the lights as she makes her way there and you squint at the brightness that burns your eyes. You can see that she’s confused as she removes a pizza box and several days’ worth of clutter from the couch so you can both sit down, but she sits down and you slump down next to her anyway. 

The sunflower feels heavy in your hand, but you don’t want to put it down. You hold it tightly, letting it guide your thoughts back to the tender moments it symbolizes. 

“Karlie,” she says, bringing you back to the reality in the blink of an eye. When you don’t say anything, you just stare at her, she looks down at her hands and starts talking. “I came back to New York just a few hours ago, really,” she says, absentmindedly picking on the skin on her fingers, “but something told me I needed to see you. I've been needing to see you for a while now, but I wasn't sure if you'd kick me out.” Out of nowhere, she lifts her hand up and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You’re hurting,” she says tenderly, “aren’t you?”

“Well, you left,” you mumble in reply because of course you’re hurting and it’s all her fault. You know that's not fair, that it's been literal _years_ and it's not on her to make sure your world keeps spinning, but in this moment you don't particularly care if your words sting, because this whole situation still stings like it happened yesterday.

She looks away and you realize she feels the pain of those words almost as much as you do. She sighs before she looks back at you. “I know,” she says quietly, “I’m not proud of it. I’m really sorry, Karlie. I’m sorry for running off the way I did, for just leaving you behind like you meant nothing to me. I was scared, you know? Scared of what it meant if I would stay with you, scared of what would happen, what kind of consequences it would have. It was just easier to drop everything and go. I was a coward and everything I did was unfair to you.” 

You don’t really know what to say. For so long you’ve wanted her to tell you all of those things, but now that she has you have no idea what to do or how to respond. Again you want that hole in the floor to open up so you can just disappear. 

"I know this doesn't make it better, but I don't think you realize just how much I hated myself for not being stronger. I don't want you to think that there isn't some part of me that will always feel that way."

You still can't find it in you to reply, and the heavy silence lingers on. You don't know what hurts more, feeling like she doesn't feel the pull of that _thing_ that will always be between you, or knowing that she does. You can't look at her, but you can hear her nervous breathing, and you can almost hear her thoughts swirling around in her head. You can feel her gaze on you, but you wait for her to speak again, and eventually she does.

“I... just... I can't. I can’t be what you want me to be, Karlie,” she says, filling the silence, “but I can be what you need.” 

“And what is that?” you ask, unsure of the answer yourself.

“Your best friend.”

***

She stays until the early hours of morning. At first you’re reluctant to open up to her, scared that if you do, she’ll take the broken pieces of your heart and pulverize them completely, but eventually you do. It’s almost like slowly wading into a cold stream, freezing at first until you dare to just take the plunge, your body quickly readjusting to the temperature once submerged. When she leaves, both your voices are raw from hours of talking, laughing and crying.

She comes back the following night and together you watch the sunset. On the table next to you, a single sunflower stands tall in a vase, its colors matching the golden hues of the sky.


End file.
